Captain Drake V


It has been a while since y’all heard from me and I promise you, I have a semi-tangible reason for my prolonged absence. I trust y’all have been awesome since y’all last heard from me.

Without too much ‘serenren’, I will leave you with the follow up to our good friend, Drake’s story. There is one more chapter left in the series, so sit back and enjoy.

Read! Like!! Comment!!! FOLLOW!!!!


Through the windows of the her rundown office in the dilapidated secondary school that served as a military base of operations in the fight against terrorism, Lt. Col Abigail Danjuma stood with a cup of premium whiskey in hand, watching the barely visible tells of the passage of time. She watched as a soft and gentle breeze blew across the face of the plains that spread like a brown-yellow sheet of infinite grains from her window into the horizon. She watched as pieces of poorly disposed garbage drifted in the gentle wind in a slowly twisting and oddly calming manner that she did not seem to mind that her men were not running a clean camp. She noticed the way billows of cummulo-nimbus clouds drifted across the face of the baby-blue sky. Time was passing and there was nothing anyone could do to slow its quick-march.

‘I hate this place!’

When she received news of her deployment to these god-forsaken plains, she – unlike her men – was thrilled at the opportunity to have a piece of the action. She had commanded her men through four months of slow, yet well-orchestrated, battles; sweeping through combatant strongholds like a raging flood and liberating the oppressed from the yoke of tyranny and terror. She was doing a great job and her records were a stellar example worthy of emulation; over 12 liberated villages and 4 ransacked strongholds, over 300 captured combatants and more than three times that number was recorded dead yet she had suffered less than 200 casualties of the 3000 men under her command.

She used to love this place. It was her stepping stone; she once felt like young David, at Ephes-Dammim, facing off against Goliath – her God was by her side and she had not been led wrong since she got here. She was expecting a few medals of honour when she returned to Abuja and a promotion to boot.


She used to love this place.

Used to… past tense.

A month ago, she met a charming and daring captain who turned her world on its head and she fell head over heels in love, but the wily punk did not see things from her point of view, so she sought to teach him the errors of his ways. She sent him on a difficult mission – if he succeeded, he would stay by her side for fear of being sent on another dangerous mission, if he had failed, she would have guilt-tripped him into compliance. She never once considered the fact that he might lose his life on the mission.

M.I.A – Missing In Action

Three weeks had passed since she inspected the crushed and battered remains of Captain Ogbu of the Special Forces who had teamed up with the man whose face had haunted her dreams since she kissed him all those nights ago. Three weeks since she looked into his honey-brown eyes; since she laid her eyes on his charming smile and mouth watering body.

Three weeks since she last smiled.

The mission was to rescue the reporter daughter of Deputy Senate President, Dakoko Benson; who, against common sense, thought it wise to ask the combatants their side of the story. They are fighting the spread of western civilization for heaven’s sake!!! Women have very few rights in their eyes. A woman place was either on her back with her legs parted to her man or standing behind him with sealed lips.

The foolish actions of the fame-hungry girl cost the lives of her three-man crew and Captain Ogbu, and nearly 100 soldiers. While Abigail was not sure what became of the girl and Drake; three weeks behind enemy lines with limited ammo and very little food, they were – in her opinion – as good as dead.

Try as she might to explain her decisions to the higher ups; she knew all her hard work would amount to nothing now. Her medals of honour, her promotion… they had disappeared from sight even before she could own them.

Worse still, Drake, the man whose lips she would give anything to kiss again… he was gone as well and with every passing hour, the chances of his return went from slim to none.

After 504 hours (three weeks) of waiting, his chances were less than none; still, Abigail stood by her window – like she had every day since his disappearance – just before the sun went down and watched for signs of a lone figure walking in the brown-yellow expanse that spread from beneath her window into the horizon.

When the last rays of sunlight were gobbled up by the cloak of night and darkness claimed the lands for its own, she turned away from the window, stealthily wiping the tears that came unbidden to her eyes. With an angry grimace, she downed the contents of her stainless steel cup in one swallow, hating herself for being so weak, hating her anger for sending him away, hating her heart for holding on to a man who might as well be dead. Most of all, she hated this place, this town where she met and lost the man who taught her the truth of love.

“I fucking hate this place!!!”


The sun was burning with an unforgiving harshness over the sandy of the sub-Saharan plains, birthing undulating waves of shimmering heat off the surface of the earth. There was a gentle breeze that swept across the plains, blowing a tumbleweed over the heated sands and while a scorpion or two could be seen scurrying over the heated sand in pursuit of their daily bread, the fields were nearly devoid of wildlife. There were trees that stuck up across the face of the nigh-barren lands like sore thumbs standing out of the crowd of sparsely spread tufts of weed that served as the most abundant plant-life in the sub-Saharan plains. There were barely any leaves on these trees but it was enough to provide food to the occasional herd of cattle that passed by.

While there was very little wildlife in these parts, but there was, however, an off-road pick-up parked under the shade of a skeletal tree with too few leaves on its branches. Underneath the pitiful shade of this sickly tree, four men knelt on mats with their open palms held before them in prayer, only a few feet away from the parked truck.

“ALLAHU AKBAR!!!” Their leader called as he bowed his head to touch the heated sands in reverent worship of the Most Beneficent and Merciful.


“ALLAHU AKBAR!!!” the other three men echoed, bowing their heads to the hot sands as well. The true Muslim lives his life for Allah who gave him breath and there is no pride, no ego in worship of the One True God!

As the men prayed according to the teachings of the Holy Prophet (Peace be Upon His Name), they were wholly unaware of the hunter who had them in his sights less than 500m away. He crouched on the sand behind a boulder that was about a meter high, covered by a dirty blanket that was bathed in sand and adorned with twigs. The hunter had spotted this group of prey since they began their ablutions, then he crawled on his stomach for more than half a kilometer to get to the effective range of semi-automatic rifle which he had reset to a one round only burst.

He had been crouched for over 7 minutes now and he was sure of the wind speed and the time difference between each mode of his preys’ prayer sections, bow, kneel or stand. He was sure he had it all figured out.

Mi-re-mi-re-mi-ti-ray-doh-LAAH!” The hunter hummed the notes to Beethoven’s Fur-Elise as he gently squeezed the trigger as he hit the lah note, smiling imperceptibly as the bullet zipped through the air and embedded itself in the prayer leader’s head which burst open like a sickly wet piñata, spraying blood and cranial matter on the sand and truck that was parked less than 5 feet away. The hunter continued his humming and hunting, each drawing beat was accompanied by a gunshot.





Each shot reaped the life of one of the devout worshipers who were scrambling for cover behind the truck that was beside them, the second bullet came to rest in the back of one of his prey, while the next was buried in the base of other’s neck.

Of the four, only one was able to throw himself behind the truck before his corresponding note was sung. This did not bother the hunter so much; he kept humming the notes to Fur-Elise, albeit at a much slower pace. As he did, he studied the prey who was hiding behind the truck, watching as he opened the door to the truck and help himself to – what the hunter assumed to be – an Alexei Kalashnikov (circa ’47) {AK-47}.

“Mi—re—mi—”, the hunter was not going to wait till this prey got prepared before he took his life as well, so he let himself fall away from the boulder and to the ground, humming as he aimed at the foot of the prey who was, probably loading ammo into his weapon.



The shot blasted the man’s ankle which sent him to the ground in a pained howl; the hunter was still smiling when he finished the notes in that bar.



Mi-doh-ti-LAAH!” The hunter smiled as he watched the man’s head burst open in a shower of red and milky-white. “Now that’s how you conserve bullets!”

After kill…

He worked his way to his feet, walking towards his slain preys with a pronounced limp on his right leg. He watched all of them warily, careful to sure they were all dead; he put another bullet in the head of his second prey. One could never be too careful.

Turning to the direction boulder from whence he crouched only moments ago, he put two fingers to his lips and gave a loud whistle.

A slim dark-skinned lady who was over five foot-seven inches tall poked her head out from behind a tree that was over a kilometer away, checking see if the coast was indeed clear. The hunter just raised his right hand over his head in a beckoning wave and turned his attention to the vehicle in front of him.

The first bullet had drilled through the prey’s head before it came to a rest in the driver’s door, aside from that, there did not seem to be any major problem with the vehicle which was good news. Looking through the window, he saw a small paper box filled with bullets and hand grenades and six rifles lay on the floor of the car, most of which were in need of maintenance, an assortment of blood stained daggers and a sack of rations (biscuits, bread and dried meat as well as water).

He was pleased with his findings; food was enough to last them a few days and the guns, though in need of some cleaning and oiling, would ensure their continued existence seeing as he had less than ten bullets left in his treasured M-16. He was already taking stock of the quantity of bullets in the small paper box when a soft voice called from behind him.

“Hey, Drake… Are you ok?”

Drake turned to his companion for the past month. Ever since he regained consciousness outside Pa Rufai’s hut, she had been by his side to care for him while he hobbled and stumbled with his busted right ankle and fumbled with his bad shoulder. He smiled at her, taking in her slim waist and hips as she walked towards him across the loose sands, the rest of her shapely legs were hidden in the baggy combat trousers that had been in his backpack which was salvaged by Pa Rufai when he fished them out of their truck in the river. She wore an army-green round-neck undershirt that was a few sizes too big for her and a sleeveless combat jacket; all together, she had a delicate charm that seemed to incite Drake’s protective spirit when she saw him clad in his clothes.

Her face, devoid of make-up and finery for weeks, was still a beautiful sight to behold. Drake was not ashamed to admit that he was smitten by her in more ways than he dared to admit. She had a scar on her forehead, just above her left brow which she sustained during their fall, and a series of scratches on her thigh and back.

All things considered, they were pretty lucky to have survived their fall with these few wounds on their bodies, Drake’s dislocated ankle and shoulder and slightly fractured ribs being the worst of it.

“You really think these four are enough to ruffle my feathers?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, an amused glint flashed in his eyes. He moved his semi-automatic rifle from its resting place across his torso to his back, creating some space for the lady who was walking towards him as a fast pace.

“I’ll always be worried whenever you have to face them”. She walked right up to him and buried her face in his chest, wrapping her slender arms around his broad chest.

Drake smiled at the worry-wart whose recklessness brought them a few yards away from the gates of hell. If she had not gone to the insurgents’ camp to take their side of the story, neither of them would be in this mess. At least, she learned to fear death from her experience.

“I’m good missy; don’t fret much about something like this”. He wrapped his arms around her, taking huge whiffs of her scent. Neither of them had showered for close to a week and while he could not stand his own scent, he felt she smelt divine… given the circumstances.

They spent three weeks with Pa Rufai who was their benefactor and saviour as well as their protector. In those three weeks, Drake got his weapons back and restored them as well as he could while he gave his body the time it would need to heal. He stayed in a state of constant wariness and alertness for the first week but relaxed when he realised there was no one else around for several miles.

The three of them spent a leisurely three weeks by themselves with the animals, Maria learned what she could of Hausa language from Pa Rufai, teaching him words in English, not that the man was really interested in learning to speak the words. Drake slowly rehabilitated his sore ankle and shoulder, counting the days till he could return to base-camp.

Their peace ended when some insurgents came to steal some of Pa Rufai’s livestock one night, they were not greedy; they just wanted to help themselves to a cow and a few sheep. Pa Rufai, however, refused to part with even a single one of his flock. Loud arguments lead to fighting which lead to Pa Rufai’s death.

Drake kept the wailing Maria quiet in their hiding place beneath the bed and when the heartless scum had departed with all the livestock, Drake crawled out from under the bed and trailed them for a while, reaping their lives from the midst of the animals they stole.

They had been on the move since, making their way towards the general direction of the secondary school that served as the military base camp.

In those three weeks they spent together with Pa Rufai who believed them to be man and wife, Drake grew to adore his ‘Amaria’ and she grew to depend on him. Neither could bear to part with the other for longer than was necessary. They had no need to lie to each other and their co-dependence grew to a point where words were almost unneeded.

Neither had professed their feeling to the other, it felt like there was no reason to do so. Drake pulled back from the hug that had lingered for what felt like an eternity, but was really only a few seconds, and bowed his head to kiss his Amaria. It was not the desperate, needy and carnal kisses he was very accustomed to; he learned to kiss her differently, gently, softly. Every brush of his lips against hers was a subtle affirmation of his adoration and devotion to her.

“Let’s get out of this desert shall we?” The man asked as he pulled away from their kiss. He had no idea where they were, but he was sure he could find his way back to base-camp one way or another. He had to; he had precious cargo by his side.

The Tramp and The Lady

“Lead the way… I’ll follow you anywhere you go”. She smiled as she stood on the tip of her toes to plant a short kiss on his lips once more before turning around to get into the passenger seat. She still had her worries, but she knew Drake would do his best to ensure her safety. For now, that was enough.

To be continued…

P.s: I, Kane, shall be bringing you a Christmas extra special poem on Sunday.

Stay tuned…


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